Behind the Scenes
by neopyro
Summary: A humorous rendition of what the Harry Potter cast is doing when not being forced to live out the dirty fantasies of fangirls. Flames wanted!
1. Chapter One: Draco

Author's note: This is a parody of all those terribly written, hormone driven fics out there. Most of them have terrible grammar and spelling, little to no plot, and too many illogical actions on the parts of all the characters. Hermione will not date Draco, Harry or Snape. Draco, Harry, Remus, Snape and Sirius are not gay. Nobody will wear leather pants of any sort. And most importantly: Ginny is not a perfect little goody two shoes. In case you all missed the Memo: Severus Snape is a traitor. Get over him. The only way he will be redeemed is at his death. He will never become anyone's friend outside of someone in the Death Eater circle. UGH!

Disclaimer: I own none of this. It's all JK Rowling's. If you think this story is about your fic, then please delete it. It isn't too late for redemption, and despite what they say, suicide is not a mortal sin.

Behind the Scenes

Part one: Draco

It had been a long day in Fanfiction world, and Draco Malfoy was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed, and never take part in another Fanfic for the rest of his life.

But alas, he was a slave to the keyboard of fourteen year old fangirls, and had no choice. He was a puppet in a way. They made him do things with the buttons they pressed, and he did them. He had no choice.

He downed his shot of fire whiskey, and tossed a few galleons on the counter. It was time to go home and get some much needed rest. He walked to the fireplace. He was still Sober enough to Floo… but only just. One or two more of Odgen's best and he'd be out of commission.

'There's still a bar at home…' he thought. 'But I can't stand one more minute in these leather pants!'

Draco tossed a handful of powder into the fireplace, said "Malfoy Manor" and stepped into the whirling, green flames. He would have apparated, but recently wards had been put up around Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron to keep people from doing so.

He hacked out a mouthful of soot and ash, before staggering into the Malfoy family living room. Draco hated Floo Powder more than anything else in the world. Well… not anything.

Fanfic writers, Leather pants, and fanfic writers who make him wear leather pants were all way up there. And really, compared to some of those writers, Potter wasn't that bad of a bloke. Neither was Voldemort for that matter. Both were downright nice in comparison.

For one, neither of them had ever forced him to kiss Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, or Luna Lovegood.

'Ugh… Weasels, Mudbloods and nutcases…' he thought.

Another reason, was neither Harry, nor Voldemort had ever forced him to perform oral sex on Severus Snape.

'Don't think about that!' he chided himself. 'Drinking is supposed to wipe out the taste AND the memory.'

Draco trudged slowly up the mansion stairs, wincing at every step he took.

'What was she thinking with that strap-on?' he wondered, clutching at his rear. He reached the landing and opened the first door on the left. His room. His sanctuary. Where even bratty pre-pubescent little girls couldn't get at him. He closed the door and locked it behind him with three different spells. Next he ripped the leather pants off of his body. He yelped with pain as there was a painful peeling sound. He'd been wearing the pants for so long (except for the strap-on incident) that they had nearly grafted themselves to his skin. The knees were worn out of the pants. He had been forced to spend that much time kneeling.

'Don't think about that!' he admonished himself again.

He finally succeeded in pulling the trousers off his ankles and tossed them into the corner. An 11" long length of garden hose fell out of the leggings. It was a tool used by those evil writers to make him look as if he had a 'Larger Package.'

He swore a few times and looked down to stare at his now bare legs. The whitening charm to make him ghostly pale was starting to wear off. (Draco was actually quite tan.) Underneath the charm, he saw the rash he'd been hiding for weeks. He was allergic to something the leather was treated with and it was causing him to break out in hives.

'Fucking fan girls…' he thought.

Draco limped into the bathroom and took a swig of mouthwash. 'I should just kill myself…' he thought. 'At least it means I won't have to suck Potter's…STOP IT!'

He spat the mouthwash into the sink and limped back into his room. He collapsed into his bed and opened the top drawer of his nightstand. A bottle of "Mad Willy's Nightcap" awaited him and he took a swig straight from the bottle. It was absinthe. Strictly speaking, it was illegal, but he didn't care. Spending the next few days too trashed to move and hallucinating would be a welcome change.

"I hate my life." he muttered before taking another swig. It wasn't long until he had passed out. At least it numbed the pain… somewhat.

A/n: This story will have 7-8 parts to it. One for Draco, Ginny, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Snape and possibly one for Lupin. If you have any requests for this, feel free to review me about them. I love good ideas. Also, this story is meant to attract flames, so if you seem to think you are a critic: Please… Bring it on.

HATE MAIL IS STILL MAIL! Or in this case a review. But don't hesitate, and keep nothing back. I won't be offended. That's your job.


	2. Chapter Two: Harry

**A/n: Harry is one of those characters that has been poisoned for me because of the sheer volume of really bad fanfics out there involving him. I find myself unable to like Harry in JKR's books just because of what I've read in fanfics. There's been sap so thick it could suffocate Godzilla. (I am terribly sorry for my contributions to this. I was young and stupid. Sorry!) Now, I have nothing against romance novels, but there's a difference between romance and sap. Romance has a thing called a "Plot." Romance encompasses such things that aren't totally perfect. In case you missed the memo: There is a reason that Romeo and Juliet is the most popular romance of all time. It's because of the difficulty! It was a rocky road. There were obstacles! It wasn't just "Harry looked across the room and saw his true love. 'Will you marry me?' he asked. 'Oh yes, Harry.' She said. Harry became Minister of Magic, they married and had eleven kids."**

Crap like that doesn't happen. Even in the world of magic, it just isn't like that. I don't know what it will take to get that through these people's heads. With me, the cure was experience. Maybe people shouldn't be allowed to write a fanfic until they've been dumped for the first time. I feel confident that this will seriously lower the amount of sap in the world, just with one fact: These morons need to get a date first to get dumped.

So, in order to cover all the problems surrounding the world's favorite scarhead, this will be a double length chapter. I won't stop until I have at least 2,000 words. Promise.

**Behind the Scenes**

Chapter Two: Harry

Harry was suffering from a serious case of time lag. He had spent the last two weeks (or one hundred and fourty years, depending on how you look at it) traveling through time so that he could take the virginity of his own mother. After that he made his way through younger versions of each of the Marauders, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonnagall, Lucius Malfoy, Tom Riddle and finally, Albus Dumbledore. He thought his cock was going to fall off from over usage, and he had only slept twice in his entire journey.

'You'd think I would be used to this by now.' He thought bitterly. 'The Fangirls make me do this all the freaking time. At least it wasn't Nagini this time…'

Harry opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of industrial strength painkillers called "Oxycotin." He took them with him wherever he went these days. Tonight he was staying in a hotel room in Las Vegas. He was getting married to Draco Malfoy by an Elvis impersonator tomorrow.

Harry knew that he would suffer from terrible nightmares were he to go to sleep now. Normally he would take a dreamless sleep potion, but Madame Pomefrey put a stop to that about a month ago, seeing as he started getting addicted to the damn things. He only managed to shrug off the withdrawal symptoms last week.

Once he started thinking about his nightmares, he shuddered. He knew that if he took some pills right now, he'd drop off to sleep and not be able to wake up from his terrible dreams. He'd have to live through them all again. With that in mind, he put the bottle back in the cabinet.

Now all of you are assuming that Harry is suffering psychological damage from the many attacks and attempts on his life that he's survived right?

Dead wrong. These days, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the least of his worries. Voldemort had other problems now anyway. Apparently Harry wasn't the only person that had to play puppet to all the sick little fanfic writers of the world.

'Draco is lucky.' Harry thought, rubbing at his asshole and wincing in pain. 'At least he can drown his sorrows away with alcohol… I had a fucked up life before the fangirls even knew my name.' He sighed loudly.

"I wonder if Remus is still up." He mumbled, and walked over to the room telephone. Remus was living in the Muggle world due to the prejudice against Werewolves that most wizards shared. Harry picked up the phone and dialed the international number to get ahold of the closest thing he had to a father at this point. Except when they were digging up the bodies of his parents and Sirius every third day. Sirius had been brought back as an Inferi and had been taught to say lines, play jokes and have sex with inappropriate people.

"Note to self: don't mention Sirius in front of Remus." He told himself. This wasn't an issue of grief or sadness of his death, but because some crackpot fangirl had Remus have sex with Sirius's animated corpse every hour. Harry wouldn't have bothered to call if he hadn't know that Sirius's corpse was currently fucking Wormtail and Bellatrix Lestrange in some twisted threesome back in England.

The phone rang a few times before Remus picked up. He sounded terrible.

"Hello?" the werewolf asked. He'd definitely just woken up.

"Merlin, you sound terrible Remus. Rough transformation?" Harry inquired.

"Do you see a moon in the sky, dipshit?" Remus snapped. "Look kid, I already told you not to fucking call me anymore. I've got enough emotional baggage right now without throwing your shit on top right now. Now FUCK OFF!" Remus slammed down the phone. Back in Vegas, Harry started to whimper and sob.

Harry let the phone receiver fall to the floor and Harry dropped to his knees. He winced. His knees were still sore. He spent all yesterday kneeling on a tile floor. The tears started falling in earnest and Harry started shaking and having throat wrenching sobs. He started flipping out and his mind started acting up. He scrambled for his inhaler and took a few puffs. His tears dried up and his mind stabilized once more.

'Too many emotional scars… Remus is right. I need some help.' Harry thought. He walked towards the desk drawers underneath the phone and rummaged through them looking for the phone book. He pulled open the bottom drawer first.

"OH HELL NO!" He shouted, shoving the drawer shut in disgust. The fan girls had stocked his room with all the props he would use the next day. Needless to say, he did not like what he saw. There was a black, quadruple ended dildo shaped like a tire iron sitting on that drawer. Each dildo was close to fourteen inches long. He could almost feel the pain already. He didn't even want to think about who might be sharing the four pointed dildo of doom with him.

"Screw the psychiatrist!" he snapped. "I'm calling Tom."

Harry of course was not referring to the barkeep at the Leaky Cauldron. He was referring to his "Arch-nemesis" Lord Voldemort. He knew that Voldemort didn't have a telephone, so Harry decided to apparate straight to his residence. Normally, apparating from Las Vegas to Little Hangleton would be impossible, but not for Harry. He'd been in too many "Super Harry" fanfics for something to have not rubbed off on him.

With a crack, Harry appeared at the doorstep to the Riddle mansion. He rang the doorbell politely and waited a minute. Footsteps came down the steps, and unlocked the door. Voldemort answered the door.

"_Harry Potter…" _Voldemort rasped. His voice was weak and hoarse from pretending to his and bossing around servants. He was practically covered in scars and bruises from the numerous ass whippings he'd taken at the hands of various wizards. "_What brings you to my house, and at this early hour?" _There was an eight hour time change between Las Vegas and Little Hangleton. As it was only 6 PM in Vegas, it was 10 AM in England. Voldemort had still been in bed nursing his most recent embarrassing injury. Apparently Fangirls believed that Dark Lords had no dignity and were free to be beaten in the most degrading way possible. Harry felt that he was the only man alive that had it worse than he did, which was why he came there instead of elsewhere.

"Sorry about the time, Tom. This couldn't wait." Harry said. "May I come in?"

"_Of course, Harry. Just remember our truce…_" He said, cautiously.

Voldemort had become paranoid, and rightfully so after receiving a full scale thrashing twice a day. He'd left their last encounter in a stretcher. They had brought in a stunt man replacement for Harry… He knew Judo. It wasn't pretty.

"Don't worry Tom. I'm not in character right now." Harry assured him.

Tom looked visibly relieved, and hobbled across the carpeted entrance hall with the aid of a Canadian walker.

"_Come in and sit down Harry._" Voldemort offered.

"Of course, Tom." Harry said, giving him a reassuring smile. He took a seat on a particularly evil looking recliner. Tom had damn good taste in furniture. "I actually came here to make a proposition."

Tom's eyes widened in shock. "_B-but you said…_"

"I'm not in character Tom. I'm here to join forces with you. Together, you always said we could be invincible. Let's ally, and together we can destroy the greatest evil to ever walk the Earth: Fangirls."

Tom got a bit of his old evil glint back in his eyes. He seemed to get five years younger in just a few seconds.

"_Get me back to health, and together we can wipe them out!" _He rasped. "_I hear there are going to be four at that wedding of yours tomorrow. Do you still know that time stopping trick you used a few months ago?_"

Harry grinned. "I do." He raised his wand and cast the spell. "I'll leave you here to train, and I'll get back to my room. I don't want to be missed."

"_Of course… Good luck Harry Potter._" Voldemort told him as he left the room. Harry let himself out the front door and walked a good fifty feet away from the house to apparate. Just as he had drawn his wand, he was knocked from his feet when a deafening explosion had reduced Tom and his house to cinders and towering flames.

"NOOOOOO!" he shouted, practically feeling the death of his only ally against his fate. He could feel his chances of freedom slipping away. Now, without an Arch-Nemesis, he couldn't even be involved in a story with a plot anymore. No more dramatic battles… now all that he had left was sap and smut.

He had drastically underestimated the powers of a Fangirl at her keyboard. His only chance had been obliterated by an explosion of their making. Fangirls must have gotten wind of his conspiracy, and destroyed Voldemort to keep him in line. It just wasn't fair. Tears trickled silently down his cheeks.

He apparated before he could become paralyzed by grief. He found himself sobbing on the floor of his hotel room. Half blinded by tears, he searched the room for the phone book once more. He passed drawers full of gold rings, (From marriages past, present and future.) and drawers full of leather pants. Finally he located the book and tore through it looking for the number he wanted. He found it, and dialed it up.

It rang three times. A woman picked up the phone.

"Suicide prevention hotline. Please hold!" She said. Terrible music (if you could call it that) filled his ears as a mechanical voice repeated "Your call is important to us, but all our operators are currently busy."

That was the final straw. He drew his wand and obliterated the window. He had nothing else to live for. He got a running start and leaped through. He fell blissfully… for a second and a half. He was on the second story when he jumped. His leg broke on impact, as well as his arm. He didn't die. He was almost certain that he heard the evil laughter of Fangirls in the distance, hiding behind their foul computer screens.

"Why me?" he asked nobody in particular, screaming in agony. "Why the fuck did you have to pick me?"

He could already hear the apparating of Medi-witches to take him to St. Mungo's. (But not the ward he wanted to be in.)

"Can't you just let me die?" were the last words he said before blanking out.

A/n: Not enough flames! SEND THEM DAMN IT!


	3. Chapter Three: Hermione

-1Disclaimer: I own none of this! If JK knew what I was doing to her poor little characters, nobody would be allowed to write HP fics on ever again.

Chapter Disclaimer: I'm always disappointed in the way most people write Hermione. She is rarely given the amount of plottage she deserves, and when she is a main character, she only has two different ways of being written. #1: She's a brainless, lovestruck fool, lusting after Harry/Draco/Ron/Sirius/Snape/Lupin. #2... Oh wait, I forgot. There is no #2! She's never the brainy, self-empowered witch JKR writes her as! She's either an accessory to the sidekick, not appearing except in a few scenes… Or she's a fucking slut! It pisses me off! Hermione doesn't care about flowers and money. She cares about making things right in the world. She cares about house elves and making the world a better place. Instead, every character from Voldemort on down is sweet talking their way into her panties. It makes me sick! People don't seem to believe that there should be any intelligent, ambitious women in the world. The second an intelligent woman appears in public view, she's beaten down for something else that people don't like about her. Here are some examples. Janet Reno: Yeah, all right. So she looks like a man. WHO FUCKING CARES! She was smart, she had a strong will… But she faded out of the public view because of something she couldn't control. Hillary Clinton: Yeah, she's a bitch. So? That's a personality problem. That can change. And who wouldn't be bitchy after spending years with Bill? He changes sex partners more often than he changes his underwear. But Hillary is still smart as hell. The world doesn't seem to want any smart women. It's like we're still living in the dark ages.

A/n: This chapter is about Hermione, exactly as she should be. In my mind anyway.

**Behind the Scenes**

**Chapter Three: Hermione**

Hermione sprayed a mouthful of mouthwash into the sink, before pouring herself a bit more and swishing it about in her mouth.

'Thank goodness for weekends.' Hermione thought happily.

Since Hermione is rarely depicted as anything more than a supporting character who appears in three scenes per fic, she generally had weekends off. Unlike those other poor bastards who left the set long enough to take a nap before having to get back on again.

'God… Poor Harry.' she thought. Hermione spit out the second swish of mouthwash.

"Finally… I thought that taste would never come out. Fucking fan girls." Hermione dug at her asshole. It hurt like hell at the moment. She'd just finished a scene with Professor Snape. Unfortunately enough for her, Snape was hung like a moose. Hermione was fed up with the Fangirls, but didn't really have the skill to stand up to their almighty power. She'd heard what they did to Voldemort.

After being used as nothing more than a sex object for years, her asshole didn't even shut properly any more. It had stretched to the point where it always was slightly open. The rumor she'd last heard going around the set was that her vagina was so loose it slapped against her thighs as she walked.

After standing in front of the mirror for a few more minutes, she decided she still felt dirty and climbed back into the shower.

"I don't care what those smut obsessed fan girls write, if anyone ever tries a circle jrk again, I'm gonna RIP IT OFF!" Hermione growled in the shower.

She scrubbed at herself with no less than three different soaps.. She'd just gotten the last of the suds off of herself and was reveling in the bliss that was hot water when she heard someone knocking at the door.

"HERMIONE! HURRY UP! WE'LL BE LATE!" Tonks yelled from outside.

"COMING!" Hermione called.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M AFRAID OF!" Tonks quipped. Hermione vowed to get her back for that later.

Hermione climbed out of the shower and toweled off. She opened the door, still dripping with her towel wrapped around her otherwise nude body.

"What a pleasant surprise." Tonks said with a smirk. She was wearing an all cotton t-shirt that was white with a rainbow pattern on it (that would have fit comfortably, if it hadn't shrunk in the wash) and a pair of faded, but slightly ripped jeans, and hemp sandals. It was painfully obvious that she was going without a bra. Currently, her hair was long, silky and brown.

"I could say the same." Hermione replied, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "I need to get dressed really quick. Muggle protests are so much fun, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they are." Tonks replied. She seemed a bit put out that the kiss was that short, but was comforted by the fact that she got to watch Hermione change.

"Do you have the signs?" Hermione asked.

"They're shrunk and in the basket of my bike." Tonks replied.

"Awesome." Hermione dropped the towel with absolutely no inhibition and went over to her closet. She rummaged for a few moment, when she heard a moan from behind her. Hermione turned and saw that Tonks had pulled her jeans down to her knees and was fingering herself with one hand, while the other massaged her breasts through her T-shirt.

"Need a hand?" Hermione smirked.

"Ohhhh yeah…" Tonks rasped out.

Hermione smiled and walked over to Tonks. She grabbed Tonks's wrist and moved her hand away from her pussy. Then Hermione did what she did best: she got down onto her knees and started giving head.

"I-I hope we're not late to the g..gay pride protest…" Tonks moaned. From the tone of her voice, she didn't sound like she really cared that much at the moment.

"Wow, Hermione. Those fan girls really did turn you into a slut." Hermione smiled, and kept her head down where it belonged.

End of Chapter!

A/n: Before you flame, I'd like to mention that the way I see Hermione, is I see a smart girl who does whatever makes her happy, and makes the world a better place without giving two shits about what everyone else thinks. I know this chapter wasn't as funny as the others but I'll make it up to you guys somehow. Maybe Next chapter will be a double chapter?

XD Maybe not. Read, review, wait and see.


	4. Chapter Four: Sirius & Snape

-1**A/N: **Double feature chapter! The reason: when I looked at what I had written for Sirius, I found it didn't fill a whole chapter. In fact, it wasn't even close. So I decided to toss Professor Snape into the mix. Hope it's likable.

**Snape rant: **This is remarkably similar to my Draco rant. Only on a much more scary level. SNAPE IS OLD ENOUGH TO BE HERMIONE'S FATHER! Hermione is the same age as Harry. Harry's parents are the same age as Snape. Thus Snape is old enough to be Hermione's father. That's just sick. It means that Snape is at least 18 years older than she is. That means that when Hermione was being conceived, if Snape was lucky enough he was getting laid at the exact same time. He learned to apparate before she was born. WE ARREST PEOPLE LIKE THAT IN THE REAL WORLD. Hello? Earth to fan girl. Ever hear of statutory rape? And don't even get me started on Ginny, Draco, Harry and whomever else you have him fuck. Get a life people. So here, I shall take Snape, and paint him in the image that you paint him in. This is nothing but the image that you give me when I read your sorry little story. Only with grammar. And logic. Here is Snape, exactly as you've depicted him. With just a bit of realism tossed in for added effect.

**Sirius rant: **I would like to begin this rant by stating that Sirius is my absolute favorite HP character. Or rather was. HE'S FREAKING DEAD, PEOPLE! LET HIM GO! Ok, it seems these days a third of all the fics have people traveling back in time to save Sirius, or bringing him back from the dead… or just pretending he never died in the first place. They're like ostriches, sticking their heads in the sand pretending that nothing happened. It's pathetic. And so, without further ado, I give you the Sirius section of the chapter.

**Behind The Scenes**

**Chapter Four: Snape & Sirius**

**----------------------------------------Sirius--------------------------------------------**

"And…ACTION!" The fan girl screeched from her director's chair. So far the fic had gone off without a hitch. There were to be no mistakes now. Her fingers typed away at her laptop as Harry made his way onto the set.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, trying to sound excited. "You're alive! But how?"

Sirius didn't speak. He was being held upright by strings after all. Above the set, her best friend manipulated Sirius as if he were nothing more than a puppet. His voice was to be added later by her other friend. He always wanted to play Sirius.

"Wow, Sirius that's great! Just don't die like that again!" Harry said, feeling vaguely ill.

In the next scene, Sirius was supposed to envelop Harry in a fatherly hug. The proper strings were moved, and by all rights, Sirius the corpse-puppet should have glided across the set and wrapped his arms around Harry.

But then, there was a disgusting tearing sound. Sirius collapsed on the set, his head coming free of his slightly decomposed neck and rolling off the stage.

"CUT!" the fan girl screeched. "STAGE CREW! GET DOWN THERE WITH SPELLOTAPE IMMEDIATELY! WE HAVE A CRISES!"

Stage hands of all ages came onto the stage and retrieved Sirius's head. One of them held it in place while another sewed the two pieces of skin together. Once the stitching was complete, another stage hand gathered an old broom handle. They ran the broom handle down the back of Sirius's shirt, and spell taped it to his back and the back of his neck. So that he would stand upright.

Flies orbited Sirius like moons around a planet.

"LYSOL!" the director fan girl screeched. "SOMEBODY SPRAY SOME LYSOL! SIRIUS REEKS!"

**---------------------------------------Snape-----------------------------**

Severus Snape reclined at his desk. By all rights, he should be grading papers right now. But no. He knew that he had another purpose. His fingers found their way to the masculine gold medallion around his neck. Stroking it… tracing a pattern with his fingertips.

He heard a footstep. It was time.

"Why, hello Mrs. Zeller. What a nice night to be having a detention…don't you think?" he asked silkily. He was like a tiger, advancing on his prey. It would only be a matter of time before he had her. Just like all the rest.

((Author's note: Rose Zeller is sorted into Hufflepuff (page 209. She's the only girl mentioned out of the two names of people who are sorted. I only used her because she was the youngest I could get. Harry misses the sorting in Half Blood Prince, thus: there are no listed names. I'd have to make something up.) in Order of the Phoenix. At the time this fic is taking place, that would make her a second year.))

Rose Zeller was shaking. Literally, her knees were quivering and goosebumps had crept up her arms and legs. This was her first detention… and it was with Professor Snape of all people. She really didn't like the hungry look that Professor Snape was giving her.

'Maybe it's true what people said about him being a vampire… Is he going to eat me? Maybe I should run…' Rose thought.

'No!' another voice said in her mind. 'Do you know how many points we'll lose if I walk out of detention? I'd be better off dead after what my housemates would do.'

So, Rose gulped and answered his question. "Y-yes." she stammered. "Beautiful night…"

Snape felt one corner of his mouth come up in a twisted sort of smile. She was as good as his.

"Come into my office. I have a few… ingredients that need filing." Snape purred.

"Y-y-yes professor." Rose managed, as Snape herded her into his office. The door locked with a snap behind him.

Rose was absolutely horrified when she entered the room. There weren't any potion ingredients anywhere. But the wall was covered with… pictures. Disgusting pictures. Thousands of them. All the walls and the ceiling were covered with moving pictures of Professor Snape…doing things. To people. And not just girls. Little boys too.

Rose felt a strange tingling between her legs that she'd never felt before. Snape came up from behind her and reached his hand up her skirt. Rose squealed with shock and tried to get away from the professor. Snape held her tight and started unbuttoning her blouse.

"HELP!" Rose screamed to no avail. "Somebody help!"

"Nobody can hear you…" Snape whispered into her ear. He had to stoop to do so. He was nearly two feet taller than she was. "This room is sound-proofed."

"No…" Rose managed. She stopped flailing and surrendered herself to this monster. Best to get it over with than to struggle and make it take longer.

Severus removed Rose's blouse completely. Rose wasn't quite old enough to be wearing a bra. She was just starting to bud.

"Perfect…" Snape hissed under his breath.

Rose cried as she became yet another notch in Professor Snape's belt. Another picture on his wall of shame. A few hours later, Rose returned to her dormitory with a limp and tears in her eyes. Snape simply laid back on his bed with a smile on his face. He could still smell the sweat of pre-pubescent little girls in his room. Severus sat upright and reached into his desk drawer. Inside was a list. But not just any list. It was the Hogwart's enrollment list. With a quill, Snape put a check next to the last second year on the list.

"I wonder… How many first years are there this semester?" he asked himself.

He counted twenty. And with only four weeks left in the school year. That was five detentions a week. Snape grinned. He was up for a fun month. He grabbed his wand from his nightstand and attached Rose's picture on the wall to the left of his bed. Right next to the photos of the Creevy brothers.

Snape collapsed back on the bed and flicked his wand at the wizarding wireless. It tuned in to a station playing nothing but hymns. He found himself singing along with the one that was playing.

"Jesus loves the little children… All the little children in the world!" Severus sang.

Soon, he was asleep. Off to pleasant dreams of another year, and another twenty little boys and girls.


End file.
